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his knee if I refused. But he’d be disappointed.
    And the saddened look on his face would be far, far worse than the lash of a whip.
    I had to try.
    Still, where did his request come from? He never gave me any indication that he’d like to switch with me. Did I miss any clues?
    Sitting on the bed, I curled my legs under me and straightened the piece of paper that used to be an elegant swan. Nervously, I twisted the tight red curls in my ponytail around my finger, re-reading every word in Master’s note. I leaned back against a pillow, my long skirt sliding up, revealing thigh highs and shocking-pink garters.
    In the past few months, his job included taking on more responsibilities. We celebrated his promotion to president of the financial division by dining at Chez François, and while I sipped my Beaujolais and dug into my Poires Belle-Hélène, he seemed preoccupied. I knew something wasn’t right when I rubbed my leg against his, ran my finger along the inside of his thigh, and got zero reaction out of him. Zero.
    “Where is it?” I asked, trying to lighten the mood.
    “Hmmm? What?” He sliced into his medium-rare steak.
    I leaned in and whispered, “The hard-on.” Usually, a finger along the thigh guaranteed an instantaneous erection.
    His smile didn’t reach his eyes. In his business suit and red tie, he looked distinguished and sexy, black hair graying at the temples, laugh lines at the edges of his sensual mouth. His fingers held the stem of the wineglass a little too tightly.
    For several weeks after our celebration dinner, Master came home exhausted every single evening, rarely arriving before eight o’clock. As he watched the late night news, I kneeled on the floor and rubbed his feet. Afterward, I moved on to a neck and shoulder massage, pressing my thumbs into his tight, knotted muscles.
    “I need a vacation,” he said. “Giving people orders every minute of the day is getting old.”
    “But you like giving orders,” I teased, kissing his neck.
    He raised his glass of rum and Coke to his lips. “We’ve posted losses over the past three quarters. Now it’s my job to get us back in the black. My job. And a few people disagree with my methods, so I’ve got to keep them in line.”
    “Bring your flogger to the office. Then you can literally crack the whip at them.”
    “I’ll need a lot of whips.” A hint of a smile appeared. “I’ve got thirty people under me, Bethany.”
    “Thirty?” I said in a playful tone. “Any of them female? Any of them naked?”
    He chuckled. “Don’t give me ideas. The last thing I need is a sexual harassment complaint for fucking my secretary in the conference room!”
    “How about if you sexually harass me?” I placed his glass on the coffee table, sat in his lap and unbuttoned my blouse. “I promise not to file any complaints, Sir!”
    His hands slipped under my bra, and I arched my back.
    Now I understood. I brushed the red paper against my lips and inhaled another whiff of his cologne. He needed to relax and let somebody else take care of things for a while. The knowledge gave me something to work with. Relaxation-based play, but still edgy and titillating. How the hell was I supposed to manage that?
    What could I use to reinvent myself? I needed a massive injection of confidence.
    The answer? Costume play. I got up and opened my closet, stunned by the array of costumes I’d accumulated over the past few years. Dressing up before play helped me get into a submissive mindset. I needed an outfit that made me feel powerful. If I thought of this as a role-playing exercise, I might be able to pull it off.
    I didn’t like to disappoint.
    And Master didn’t like to be disappointed.
    What inspired confidence? Definitely not the saucy pirate dress with the swashbuckling hat. The last time I wore it, Master led me into the basement, tied me to a pretend “mast” and flogged me for refusing to swab the deck. I grinned at the memory. While my wrists were tied